Kjelda's poems

[kjelda]

I wrote a poem that actually rhymes for the first time in quite a while so I felt like throwing it at other people it's also one of my minor vices that I don't name my poems:

a man on the train, dressed in tweed, olive green
looked over at girls who in turn looked at screens
and he wrinkled his nose in disdain
and he took out a book, called the hawk in the rain
and the writer of that book is ted hughes
but the colour of the spine matched his shoes
olive green, olive green- he made sure he was seen
with golden rimmed eyes in a peter weir scene
skimming words with a glance made of glass.
when he enters a park would he then select grass
the exact shade of his emerald suit
to walk on? does he carefully plan out his route
according to greenness each day?
I wonder, I wonder, what the tweed man will say
when he reads hughes’ poem called red?
perhaps he’ll wear scarlet instead.

[Jubal]

I love this I wish I was better at this sort of observational stuff in my writing.

It somehow echoed Pete Atkin's Girl On The Train in my head in that both are about watching people read on trains

[kjelda]

Ah yes, you sent that to me! I guess this one is on the other side of the spectrum where I harshly judged this random man for reading on the train instead of falling in love with him, haha. Poor guy.

[Jubal]

I mean you need to get to like line four before you start changing any lyrics:

What did I do yesterday, well I'll tell you in brief;
Ten quid from the bank and I got out of town with relief.
And slowly but surely my life came to flower again,
As a book-cover judge on the clothes of a man on the train

He was reading a book, taking in every word the man wrote;
It was coloured the same as his jacket, I couldn't help note,
While no further than seven foot six from his monochrome tweed,
I considered his choices of just-as-green matter to read.

[kjelda]

I don't like this one very much yet but I wrote it all at once sitting on the floor of my bedroom right after I woke up. So I'll fuss about it later- but for now I've been told it's ok to share things that are not perfect yet!

11/06/2023

today your softness hurts you.
your kindness stumbles over words
and confidence deserts you
the strength and cruelty underneath
they witness, and they curse you

they drag up dreams and tell you,
these were ragged, sharp and lean
and they do not repel you
so swallow them, digest them and then
let them overwhelm you-
.
.
.
too many legs too many eyes
(too many wings and faces?)
too many words too many tales
(too many holy places?)
they crawl inside your stomach
(do they loathe you or revere you?)
they push and pulse and shudder
(get them out but keep them near you-)
.
.
.
today, your harshness hurts you.
you swiftly sneer your stolen words
and tenderness deserts you
the soft and kindness underneath
they witness, and they curse you.

[Jubal]

I keep meaning to comment on this but not being quite sure how to approach it because it hits me quite hard, which I think means it's doing its job well! The mirroring is clever and the sort of angelic-nightmare-vision bit works very well I think.

The "you swiftly sneer your stolen words" is the only line that doesn't land for me because in my head you can't sneer a word, and that was enough to make me pause over the line in a way that jarred the flow a little?